


Who Killed the World

by Lyfie



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cannibalism, M/M, Post-apocalyptic AU, Slow Burn, canon AU, rated M for violence more than sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2016-01-31
Packaged: 2018-05-01 05:55:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5194673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyfie/pseuds/Lyfie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Many years after an eruption of red lyrium destroyed most of Thedas, Dorian decides that he'd rather face the unknown beyond the wall that now surrounds Tevinter than submit to what his father and the other magisters have planned for him.</p><p>But life out in the wasteland is more dangerous than he could have ever imagined. A group of raiders run by a Qunari might not be Dorian's first choice for allies but he's less inclined to argue when it's life or death.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Smoke and Mirrors

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to [Mikkotto](http://mikkotto.tumblr.com/) over on tumblr for Beta-ing this!
> 
> As Imagine Dragon's album "Smoke and Mirrors" album makes up the majority of my writing playlist for this fic, chapter titles have been uncreatively pulled from song titles and only vaguely have anything to do with what's actually in the chapter.
> 
> Fic title is taken from the newest Mad Max movie, even though this post-apocalyptic world is not particularly Mad Max-esque.

Twenty-three days after Dorian fled Tevinter, he found himself on the side of the road weeping over a half-empty bottle of ale.

When he'd stumbled upon the bottle and saw that it still contained some liquid, Dorian had expected it to be a small collection of rainwater but what he got was a mouthful of ale instead. The unexpected burn had him sputtering, but the tears didn't start until he'd managed to swallow it down and realized the implication of what he'd found.

Any open bottles of ale left over from before the Rupture had long since evaporated and nowadays, even finding a sealed bottle of alcohol was a rare treat. Not that Dorian could fault the ancient people; if he had lived through the end of the world he'd probably down all the drinks he could get his hands on too. So far the luckiest he'd been with bottles was occasionally finding a small bit of rainwater not yet claimed by the searing sun.

An open bottle of alcohol out in the wasteland meant there had been people through there recently. Living people.

It had been twenty-three days since Dorian had last seen another living being, hell, twenty-three days since he had even seen evidence that he wasn't the only person still alive out in the Maker-forsaken world. And yet, here was a half-empty bottle of ale. If that wasn't worth crying over, he didn't know what was.

Another swig of ale didn't help temper the tears but it did chase away the hunger pains, at least for a little while. He'd been hungry for so long he couldn't even bring himself to care that the ale tasted more like piss than alcohol. It wouldn’t help with the dehydration or exhaustion, but that was future Dorian's problem. If he was lucky, he might be able to catch up to whoever decided the dredges of piss-ale weren't worth their weight before he had to worry about the consequences.

Dorian downed the rest of the bottle in one go, and then on a whim turned and made a rude gesture at the wall of red lyrium far off in the distance behind him. His people, miles away beyond the wall, were undoubtedly as unaffected by the childish gesture as they were about his leaving, but it made him feel better anyway.

Weeks of lonely wandering would put a damper on anyone’s spirits. If he could find the owner of the bottle of ale, no, _when_ he found the owner of the bottle, he would finally have the undeniable proof that the magisters' had been lying about what lay beyond the wall. That would be the best “Fuck You” he could ever send back to Tevinter.

It was hard to keep himself from breaking out into a run as he continued down the old Imperial Highway, but the discovery would mean nothing if he collapsed before he found another clue as to where the bottle's owner was headed. Out in the wasteland, the wind and sand eventually reclaimed everything that dared linger. Even an hour could mean the difference between finding another clue and having the trail go cold.

Dorian was rewarded for his patience some distance down the road from where he found the bottle. There were three footprints left in the sand, shielded from the whipping wind by the ruins of what might have been an old building once upon a time. Had he been moving quicker he might have overlooked them, hidden as they were. There was a good chance they were made by the bottle’s owner, which meant they were closer than he had dared to hope.

It wasn't the wind that made his eyes start watering again, but that's what he would tell the people when he found them. He had so much to tell them, so much to ask them, these people that the magisters said did not exist.

Back in Tevinter, he had never spent a day alone and would have done anything for some privacy. The wasteland, however, managed to make him feel homesick even knowing what horrors he had left behind. Right now, the previously half-empty bottle of ale still in hand, he'd do anything for even a glimpse of another living person.

Ahead of him, in the direction the footprints were pointing, the road disappeared under a large sand dune. With no more clues in sight, Dorian had no way of knowing which direction the person had gone. Trying not to lose hope, Dorian figured his best bet was to use the height of the dune to scout the area for landmarks and lay out a search pattern from there.

Climbing the dune was easier said than done. Simply putting one foot in front of the other sent him sliding back down the slippery sands before he’s even made it halfway up. Seeing no other choice, he broke out into a run to build up enough momentum to make it up the side of the dune. His muscles screamed from the effort, but the physical pain served as a distraction from the possibility of having lost the trail already.

Unfortunately, even the pain wasn’t distraction enough to stop that possibility from looking more and more likely. More dunes sprawled in every direction, limiting his view of the surrounding area. There were no buildings, no structures, and no more hints as to where the bottle's owner might have been heading.

In frustration, he flung the bottle off the dune with a strangled scream. He watched it sail through the air and land near the base of the dune.

A little ways off from a hooded figure.

From his vantage point Dorian couldn't tell if it was even alive, turned away from him like they were. A traitorous part of his mind suggested that it could be just a scrap of fabric caught on a pole. Maker knew he'd gotten his hopes up over less convincing things in the past. This time, however, he found that he simply didn't have the emotional strength to doubt, nor, in that moment, the physical strength to even continue standing. Consequences of his dash up finally catching up to him, his legs collapsed beneath him and he started slipping down the sands towards the bottom of the dune.

He wanted to call out to the figure but the words were stuck in his throat. Fortunately the avalanche of sand caused by his clumsy descent did the job for him, as the figure slowly raised their head to track the source of the sliding sand. By the time Dorian could see the face of person under the cloak, no amount of grasping or scrambling could halt his fall.

The person, if it could even still be called that, was sickly and thin, bones protruding out of every inch of uncovered skin. The average looking silhouette Dorian saw from the top of the dune was formed from the large number of red crystals that padded the otherwise impossibly malnourished body. Where there weren't taut skin and bones, there were jagged shards of red lyrium which appeared to be growing straight out of its flesh.

By the time Dorian managed to stop his slide halfway down the dune, the creature had started staggering towards him. It appeared hindered by what he could only assume were more red lyrium crystals on its legs. It was a slow moving threat but the unnatural shuffling and its grotesque appearance were terrifying enough on their own.

Dorian tried frantically to get himself back on his feet but exhaustion and the slippery sands weren't helping. The best he could manage was to slowly scoot himself sideways across the ground. Unable to take his eyes off the figure in front of him, he didn't notice something coming up to his right until a sharp pain shot up his forearm. A jagged piece of red lyrium had sliced him open and the hand attached to the red lyrium had his robes in its grip.

Dorian lashed out with all the magic he had left, which was only enough to knock the closest creature back a couple feet. As it slowly regained its footing, he finally got a good look at its face. The red lyrium appeared to pierce its skin from the inside out, distorting the undeniably human features that stared back at him. This particular creature had a crystal spike jutting out of where its left eye should have been. If that wasn't horrifying enough, the creature had momentarily taken its attention off of Dorian to lap up his blood that had spilled across its hands.

The first creature had started shrieking after he had thrown off the second. Some of the noises sounded like they could have been Tevene, but whatever human language it used to have was so badly mangled Dorian couldn't make out a single word.

Adrenaline and the knowledge that he didn't have enough mana for another blast of magic finally pushed Dorian to his feet. He ran. Both creatures were now screaming behind him but he didn't waste the precious energy to look back. If he could just make it to one of the abandoned buildings in the area, he could hide or at least find something to defend himself with.

Turned out he didn't need to look back to figure out what the creatures were screaming about. Three more of them had appeared over the dunes in front of him, calling back to the ones chasing him. He was surrounded. In his current state, Dorian knew that if he stopped running he wouldn't be able to get started again.

With no time to look around for other options he tried to barrel past the creatures in front of him. He managed to dodge the first pair of outstretched hands but stumbled into another and the thing dragged him to the ground. Dorian tried to drive his boot heel into any skin he could find but the creature was more crystal than flesh and his hits glanced off with little effect.

Blood dripped freely onto the sand where the creature's hands gripped and cut his skin. Dorian felt bile rise in his throat when it's mouth hovered over the open wound, but instead of licking up the blood, the thing bit down on his forearm, hard enough to break skin. In pure panic he managed to summon one more weak blast of magic. It was just enough to throw the creature off, but it took the chunk of skin between its teeth with it. The pain didn't even have time to register before the rest of them were on him. Sharp hands pawed through his threadbare robes, ripping through cloth and skin alike.

Dorian managed to get a couple hits in but he was losing blood and energy fast. Every time he managed to push one off, another would move in and no matter how much Dorian fought back they kept coming. He'd escaped Tevinter, survived in the damned wasteland, survived his fucking father, only to be eaten alive by what were probably the last living creatures beyond the wall.

The magisters had been right. There was nothing out here worth saving. They were right and he was wrong, and now he was going to die for his foolishness. He could only squeeze his eyes closed and pray they would decide to finish him off quickly.

Then suddenly the creatures pushed off of him, shrieking as they moved around him. He braced himself for another assault, sure that he would not be so lucky as for them to have fallen for his playing dead. Instead he heard more screaming, not the kind made of unintelligible noise made by the creatures but a more controlled sound. A battle cry perhaps? It was followed by sounds of battle, the screeching of metal on crystal. Something, or if Dorian was lucky, someone, strong enough to challenge the red lyrium creatures must have appeared. Dorian tried to track the moments but it was getting hard to focus past the pain.

He tried to crack open his eyes because damn if he wasn't at least going to watch the monsters get a taste of their own medicine before they finally killed him. All he got was a blurry glimpse of giant horns before he finally blacked out.

  


* * *

  
After you'd spent a few years roaming the wasteland outside Tevinter, you basically became immune to being weirded out. There was really nothing the damn world could throw at you that you wouldn't have already seen in the wasteland.

But despite having spent a decade running damage control on Seheron and then a couple more years as a mercenary and scavenger in wasteland, The Iron Bull was really fucking weirded out.

Not ten minutes after seeing the scouting party off, the remaining Chargers had heard the sounding of a horn off in the distance. _“Require armed assistance, one injured”_. In seconds, the company had their weapons drawn and were running in the direction of the call. Skinner had been leading the scouting party and, as veteran of the wasteland, it took a lot to spook her. If Skinner was calling in reinforcements, it had to be bad.

Even knowing that, no one expected to find the scouting party protecting a random stranger from being eaten alive by Venatori.

Bull had a quick second of relief that the injured person wasn't one of his people, then another second of surprise because _who would be wandering around the wasteland by themselves_ before he pushed the thoughts from his head and joined the fray.

Under the madness, the Venatori still had basic survival skills, and normally they didn't bother large groups like the Chargers. Any other time, by the time a full party of raiders appeared on the scene the Venatori would already be scrambling off as fast as their crystal-laden legs could take them. This time, however, whatever had caused them to suddenly decide to snack on human flesh also had them standing their ground.

Every fight with the Venatori was a little different thanks to their random configuration of flesh and red lyrium, but generally there were two basic rules for killing them: avoid the sharp crystals, and hit 'em in their fleshy bits. Unfortunately, when they were more crystal than flesh, that was easier said than done. The five in front of him were pretty humanoid, and damn if that wasn't a sign of how fucked up the world was, that he was glad that their enemies were still human enough to kill.

Despite the Venatori’s troubling behavior, it was a quick fight, five lyrium-sick monsters versus eleven well trained Chargers. By the time Bull had extracted his axe from where it had caught on two crystal shards in one of the creature's necks, Stitches was already hunched over the stranger lying on the ground.

The man was still breathing but based on the amount of blood on the surrounding sand and how intensely Stitches was swearing, he wasn't in good shape. Stitches had just finished hastily wrapping the wounds when he noticed Bull approaching. “Gonna need you to carry him back to camp, chief. He doesn't have time to wait for the wagon. I think I've got most of the bleeding under control but I'll need my potions if I'm going to keep him alive for more than an hour.”

“Right.” It was hard for Bull to grip the man without further aggravating his wounds or slipping on the blood. He was lighter than his height suggested, possibly due to malnutrition, which wasn't going to help the whole “survive being sliced up and almost eaten alive” thing.

When he finally had the man steady in his grip, Bull turned to Stitches who had been anxiously hovering beside him. “Head back to camp, prep whatever medicine you think we can spare. I have a feeling we're going to be cutting this run short anyway.”

Stitches hesitated, never comfortable walking away from a patient, until Bull urged him again, “Go! I'll be right behind you.”

They took off towards camp, leaving the rest of the company behind to clean up the mess.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed the beginning of my little post-apocalyptic!canon!au. It's a mouthful. Basically I'll be playing fast and loose with canon Inquisition events and character backstories to shape this post-apocalptic Thedas.
> 
> It's been a long time since I've publicly published fic I wrote, so please be gentle with me.


	2. Round and Round

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Made a few small additions to this chapter after it had been beta'd, so I apologize for any lingering typos.

The stranger looked better with his wounds cleaned and bandaged. By the time Bull had helped Stitches coax a second potion down his throat, his face had even regained some color. He was not as young as Bull would have first guessed, which just added to the whole mystery. No one survived that long without knowing not to travel alone.

One possibility was that mystery man had gotten separated from his group, but this close to Tevinter there weren't any permanent settlements. With his unmarred skin, no visible scars or missing limbs, there was little chance the man was a veteran wastelander and no self-respecting group of raiders would have taken someone so green out this far.

It was unlikely that they would get any more information until the man woke up. If he woke up. Stitches had said that he was stable, but after losing that much blood there was no guarantee he wouldn't take a sudden turn for the worst and they were days away from civilization, assuming one considered Kirkwall civilization. Nevarra City had been one of the first to fall after the Rupture, making Kirkwall the biggest settlement of survivors north of the Waking Sea.

And even if the stranger survived his wounds, he'd still have to deal with the trauma of having nearly been eaten alive.

The Venatori were more monster than man, there was no disputing that, but Bull had never seen the them try to eat someone before. As far as he knew, no one had ever seen them eat at all, it was part of the reason people thought the red lyrium was what kept them going. All that didn't change the fact that the man's worst injuries were clearly bite marks. Stitches even had to extract a rotted tooth out of the wound on the man's outer thigh.

Regardless of whether or not mystery man survived, Bull had already made the decision to cut the supply run short. If something was riling up the Venatori, then they needed to get the word out to the Inquisition and the other raiding parties in the area. Supply runs this far north were dangerous enough without adding aggressive Venatori to mix. He didn't even have to announce his decision to the Chargers to know they were of the same mind, as those that had made it back were already starting to pack up camp.

All but a few it seemed. “Tell me that isn't the guy we just saved,” Krem said, coming out of the medical tent to join Bull as he surveyed the camp. “Tell me you just happened to find another stray along the way, you know how you are with strays, after you had the good sense to dump the first guy into the nearest sinkhole.”

Krem liked to give Bull shit, that was nothing new, but there was an extra bite in his tone that Bull didn't think was directed entirely at him. “Finding one random guy out in the wasteland is weird enough,” Bull replied, purposefully ignoring Krem’s mood. “If I ever come back telling you I've found two unrelated people wandering out here alone, you make sure to check me for taint madness.”

“You don't recognize him, do you?” At Bull's incredulous look, Krem clarified, “Not him specifically, but his clothes, his look. Guess I shouldn't be surprised. You probably didn't get a good look at those guys after losing the eye.”

Bull resisted the sudden urge to rub at the eye patch. Talking about his missing eye always brought back phantom pains. “You think this guy had something to do with the people that attacked your caravan?”

It was difficult to imagine. In the years since he and Krem had met, they’d made a few attempts to track down information about the powerful group of mages that had attacked Krem’s family’s trade caravan. So far all they’d gotten was some second and third hand tales about other caravans mysteriously going missing and no information about the people behind the attacks.

Krem looked undeterred by Bull’s skepticism. “We've found a lot of weird stuff out here but nothing quite like what he's got on. Last time I remember seeing clothes that nice, styled like they are, was on those assholes that were trying to kidnap my family. But more damning is what Stitches' found in the guy's pocket.” Krem raised his hand to show Bull a ornate amulet dangling from his fingers. “Maybe you don't remember the clothes but this should jog your memory. We took an amulet just like this one off one of those guys you killed.”

Bull took the amulet from him, turning it over in his hand. It was adorned with intricate images of a species of bird Bull had never seen before, and a few foreign words written in fancy flowing script. The style was unique, even considering the variety of things they had scavenged from the border over the years. “I remember the tidy sum we got for it. Turned out to be pure silverite, right? Made us enough to buy you some proper armor and still have enough left over to bribe our way across the Waking Sea.”

“I'm telling you Chief, this guy's related to those assholes somehow, and with the Venatori acting weird I’d bet they’re connected as well. If you ask me, smartest thing to do right now is to ditch him and get the hell out of here.”

“Good thing the Chief didn’t ask you,” Stitches interjected. While Krem had been talking, Stitches had moved from where he had been working with Dalish to pack the remaining potions to the front of the medical tent, a barrier between Krem and his patient. “With us he's got a decent chance of pulling through. We leave him out here, he's going to die.”

“Why are you defending him?” Krem said, exasperation straining his voice. He was normally so unflappable that it was jarring to see him getting worked up so quickly. “You'd put the rest of the Chargers in danger for some stranger? If he's out here, there's got to be more of his kind nearby. You've heard the story, you know what kind of fucked up magic they had. You want those sorts of people hunting us down, while we're out here with no backup? Or better yet, you want your precious patient waking up and murdering us all himself?”

To his credit, Stitches looked unaffected by Krem’s outburst, despite how out of character it was. “Sounds to me like you're suggesting we kill a man based on assumptions. I can make some of those myself. _Maybe_ the rest of his people are gone and he got left behind. _Maybe_ he decided he didn’t want to be a part of that life and left. _Maybe_ he was captured by your mages and just took the clothes and amulet with him when he escaped.” With each “maybe” Stitches took a step closer to Krem until there were toe to toe. “Maybe your memory is just fuzzy and this man isn’t related to them at all.”

Krem had gone from annoyed to angry, and while Stitches seemed to realize he had crossed a line he didn't back down when Krem fired back, “My “fuzzy” memory is still better than your ignorance. You weren't even there!”

“Enough!” It was rare the Bull had to break up fights between his boys but he still knew when he needed to step in before things escalated. They stopped yelling, but continued to stare each other down, mouths pressed into angry lines. Bull waited a few moments before Krem finally broke eye contact with Stitches and turned to Bull before he continued, “If you're right Krem, then this whole situation is all kinds of fucked up. As much as I agree with your caution, we're not leaving someone out here to die without more information, especially since this guy is the only lead we have right now.”

Now it was Bull's turn to feel the force of Krem's anger. “Chief you can't be serious. You were there, you saw them. They're _blood mages_ ,” Krem spat out through clenched teeth. “Trust me, no one is more interested in figuring out what the hell happened than I am, but it's not worth getting killed over.”

“You don't even know that he's a mage!” Stitches interjected, because he didn't know when to keep his mouth shut. He and Krem were back at each other's throats not a second later.

Bull was worried he was going to have to physically pull them apart before they started throwing punches when from off to the side Dalish interrupted, “Actually, we do. Know that he's a mage, that is. Well, I know and now I'm telling you guys. Mystery man is definitely a mage.”

When no one had an immediate answer to that, she plowed on, “And that's not even the most interesting part. He doesn't have the taint.”

That was enough to turn the heads of the Chargers that had wandered over after hearing the shouting. Even Krem and Stitches dropped their aggressive posturing to give her their full attention.

“Everyone's got the taint,” Bull found himself arguing unhelpfully, at the same time Krem said, “How do you know?”

“It's all very clear to my highly advanced archer eyesight, of course,” which was Dalish-speak for 'I used magic, you idiots'. “His aura's as pure as it can be, especially compared to you lot, just like the Inquisitor’s.”

That had everyone talking at once. At least Krem and Stitches were more focused on arguing with Dalish than with each other, but Bull didn’t need all his people getting worked up at once, not when they were still out on a raid.

“ENOUGH,” Bull bellowed. The ambient conversation died off reluctantly. “Look, talking about this without more information is just going to lead us in circles. Right now, I'd rather be putting as much distance as we can between us and Tevinter. We'll finish sweeping the immediate area tomorrow, then we head to Kirkwall and make contact with the Inquisition. Mystery man is coming with us,” which generated a few protests that Bull subdued with a raise of his hand, “at least until he's well enough to talk. We'll decide what to do with him after we've heard what he's got to say.” In the crowd of faces, Bull caught Stitches nodding along. “And if he really is connected to the guys that have been abducting people along the border, I'm sure the Inquisitor will want to know.”

Bull could still hear some grumbling from the Chargers as they dispersed, but nothing loud enough to need correcting. Seemed like the only one Bull needed to keep his eye on Krem. He was obviously still frustrated but when he caught Bull staring, he answered with a resigned shrug. “Don't give me that look, Chief. If you don't want to take my advice that's your choice. You know I'm with you to the end. Just know I've got a big 'I told you so' ready for when this all goes to shit.”

It was a truce, but an uneasy one judging by the way Krem turned from him and all but stormed away to join Skinner. Bull could only hope Krem would be happier the further away they got from Tevinter, regardless of the reason behind withdraw.

Stitches lingered nearby, for once keeping his mouth shut as he watched Krem walk away. “Try not to look so smug,” Bull complained to him, without any real heat. “You’re not the one who’s going to be dealing with him all the way back.”

If anything, the comment and Bull’s following groan of frustration only made Stitches look even more smug.

“So, mystery man doesn’t have the taint,” Bull said, drawing the words out in contemplation. “You think she’s right?” It was an obvious attempt at redirection, but an important question nonetheless.

Stitches grimaced, and rubbed the back of his head with his hand. “I honestly don’t know, Chief. Besides the malnutrition and his wounds, the guy does seem to be in pretty good health. Better shape than you or I would be after an attack like that. I’d like to think Dalish knows what she’s talking about but the Inquisitor is a miracle, the first person immune to the taint in hundreds of years. Finding two immune people in such a short period of time? That’s as close to impossible as you could get.”

More mysteries then. “We need to start writing all these questions down,” Bull said, before regarding Stitches with a serious look. “Do you want me to assign someone as a guard in case he wakes up?” Knowing what he was going to say, Bull quickly cut Stitches off before he could even open his mouth to protest. “Not Krem, obviously. But he was right to be wary. All signs point to this guy being dangerous.”

Whatever reaction Bull was expecting, it wasn’t a self-deprecating chuckle. “Even if this guy is who Krem thinks he is, I know what it’s like to get caught up in something you know is wrong. We come at this guy full force, he's going to fight back even if he isn't a bad person. If you’d had an armed guard watching me the first time we met, I would have woken up swinging too. You said we were giving the guy a chance to talk. Let me deal with him alone first, and if I end up needing backup the rest of you are still right outside.”

It was a fair point, even if Bull didn’t like it. “Yeah, alright. No unnecessary risks though. I know we all don’t want this to be another story for Varric’s ‘Unsolved Mysteries of the Wasteland’ but I also don’t want to hear Krem saying ‘I told you so’ for the next year.”


	3. Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I swear I didn't meant to let this go two months without an update. Hopefully a few of you still remember this story. My real life job has been kicking my ass and my small bits of freetime have been eaten up by Fallout 4. Thankfully, life has been settling down a bit and my Fallout 4 settlements are flawless so I'm hoping to get this back on track.
> 
> This chapter was beta'd awhile ago but I've made a good amount of changes since then, so any lingering mistakes are entirely my own.

Dorian became aware of activity around him slowly. First there was the nearby clinking of glass, then the shuffling of feet, then muffled voices off somewhere in the distance. A dull ache was building across his body, demanding more and more of his attention. He was just lucid enough to use the repetitive shuffling noises as a way block out the ache, which let him continue to drift on the verge of consciousness. Then something bumped into his left side and ache suddenly became unignorable pain. He snapped awake suddenly with a groan.

The next thing he knew, there were hands on him and all Dorian could think about were the horrid creatures, cutting him, biting him. Instinctively he lashed out, using his magic to throw off whatever was touching him. He tried to sit up, but dizzy with panic and pain he barely managed to push himself up on his elbows.

Across the room he could hear whatever he had thrown start to move again. He was in pain, which meant he was injured, but for the first time since leaving Tevinter his mana felt rejuvenated, magic responding easily to his call. Empowered, Dorian forced himself to twist around and was about to launch a fireball at his attacker when he realized it was another human. A man, with a normal looking face, and clothes too tight to be concealing red lyrium crystals.

Shocked, Dorian could only stare as the man extracted himself from a mess of bandages that had been thrown in the blast of magic. Finally the man turned and noticed Dorian, but made no motion to come closer. He was crouched down with with his hands out, whispering something too softly for Dorian to make out, using a soothing voice like he was calming a spooked animal. Which was not a bad analogy, considering Dorian had just thrown him over a table and was now hunched in on himself, cradling a ball of fire between his hands.

For a minute they were at an impasse, the other man wary enough to not attempt any other movements, Dorian too startled to do anything but stare. He should have been overjoyed to have finally found another human being but his enthusiasm was buried under wariness and fear. All the theories he had come up with in Tevinter about life outside the wall fell aside in the face of reality. If his determination was so shaken after just one attack, how broken were the people unfortunate enough to live out here?

In the end, logic finally won over knee-jerk fear. Dorian felt confident that he could take down the man in front of him but there had been voices beyond the walls of what appeared to be a tent, and he was not in good enough shape to take them all on. If he was going to die, at least he should do so having learned the truth.

Dorian forced himself to swallow down his panic and slowly released his magic. Apparently that was the sign of goodwill the other man had been waiting for; after the fire dissipated, he slowly pushed to his feet and took a hesitant step towards Dorian.

“Guess I owe Dalish some gold. You are definitely a mage, aren't you,” the man mumbled, seemingly to himself. Then to Dorian, he said, “Welcome back to the land of the living. Wasn't sure you were going make it.” He attempted to give Dorian an encouraging smile, but the strain in his voice and his cautious movements betrayed his unease. When Dorian didn't respond he plowed on, “I know you're probably confused, but first thing's first, how's the pain? Bad, obviously, but if it's completely unbearable I can give you another dose of elfroot. It'll knock you out again though, and I have a feeling you have some questions.”

The word “pain” snapped Dorian out of his stupor, the ache rushing back in as the adrenaline started to fade. He forced himself up into a sitting position, which relieved some of the strain. The worst of the pain came from his limbs and his pounding head, but now that he wasn't trying to move, he found that it wasn't unbearable. Certainly he'd experienced worse in the last couple weeks in the wasteland.

Dorian licked his lips and tried to summon his words. Maker, how long had it been since he'd used his voice for conversation? Slowly, he managed to force out, “I... hurt.” Not the most eloquent he’d ever been. Dorian cleared his throat, even though the act made his chest hurt, before trying again. “That is, I am in pain, but I'd rather stay awake, if it's all the same to you.”

“That's what I figured. Let me know if you change your mind.” The man waited for Dorian to nod before standing up, although he still had made no further attempts to come closer. “Name's Stitches, by the way. You got something you want me to call you?”

Dorian had spent more than few nights thinking of how he would introduce himself to the people beyond the wall. The “Of House Pavus” part of his title had been such an integral part of his identity in Tevinter, and yet there was little chance it would mean anything to the people out here.

“Dorian,” he finally replied. Without the normal flourish he had often added when introducing himself back home, the name felt foreign on his tongue.

“Hello Dorian. You're currently in a medical tent belonging to a raiding group called the Chargers, somewhere along the Nevarra/Tevinter border.”

Stitches stopped to listen to voices beyond the walls of the tent. He glanced quickly at the door before looking back at Dorian. “There's some guys out there that have some questions for you,” Stitches continued, sounding genuinely apologetic. “They're good people, but finding you alone out here caused quite a stir. As long as you don’t start throwing magic around again, or do anything else threatening, I can make sure the only thing they do to you is talk. Deal?”

He sounded serious, although perhaps Dorian had simply been away from people too long to pick up on the lie. Stitches seemed to sense his hesitation, because he added, “I know you're confused but if you want me to keep Krem from tearing you apart, I suggest you try to trust me.”

Well, at least now he knew the names on one of his would-be killers. Dorian snorted. “If they have as many questions for me as I do for them, I don't know that you'll be able to stop them.”

As if on cue, the tent flap flew open as someone stepped in. “Stitches, everything alright? I saw the tent shake and you-”

Whatever was about to be said next was cut off as Dorian slammed a barrier up around himself and threw down a couple of fire glyphs between him and whatever had just walked into the tent. It had sounded human, even looked vaguely human as it was coming in, but then Dorian saw the giant pair of horns attached to its head. It had no clothing on from the waist up, exposing grey skin covered in old scars, and it was, of all things, wearing an eyepatch.

Whatever it was, it certainly wasn't human, although it currently had a very human-looking expression of surprise on its face. Dorian wasn't sure if that was in reaction to his magic, or the way Stitches had quickly moved to stand between the creature and Dorian.

“Woah, woah, woah, let's all just calm down a second.” Stitches gave them each a pointed look in turn. Dorian was not about to dispel his magic, but he didn't summon anything else and that seemed to be enough for Stitches to continue. “Everything is fine. Dorian,” he said, putting emphasis on Dorian's name as he turned back to face down the creature, “is just a little overwhelmed. We were even having a nice chat before you barged in, Chief.”

As Stitches talked, the “Chief” had gone from looking like he was about to charge Dorian to quietly contemplating him. Then just as quick he turned his focus to Stitches, ignoring Dorian completely. “Yeah, yeah, see if I barge in and come to your rescue next time.”

“If you see my tent shaking, Chief, you can just assume I am happily occupied and in no need of assistance. Unless we specifically ask you to join us, I guess.”

Dorian could tell they were keeping their postures relaxed and the conversation light for his benefit, but he was still having a hard time shaking the panic. Dorian could just see the outline of a great-sword swung across the creature's back, but so far he hadn't made any move to grab it, even when Dorian had nearly roasted him. Although a big guy like that probably wouldn't need a weapon to crush Dorian like a grape. If he was in this much pain from being sliced up by crystals, he could only imagine how awful it would be to be gored by those horns.

While Dorian had been panicking, the conversation had died off and Stitches and the creature were regarding him with cautious expressions. When Dorian finally met his gaze, the chief smiled broadly at him and gestured at his horns. “Nice rack, huh?” the chief asked casually. Under normal circumstances, Dorian might have considered the look on his face dashing. Right now, the movement caused him to flinch. “Let me guess, you haven't seen a qunari before, have you?”

Dorian assumed that a Qunari was whatever the creature was, so, “I can't say I've had the pleasure, no.”

He wasn't intending it to be funny but the qunari laughed anyway. “Guess that makes the pleasure all mine then. I'm The Iron Bull, emphasis on the article. Makes me sound like a thing, like I'm not even a person, yeah?”

The qunari closed his eye, the one not covered by the eye patch. Some of Dorian’s panic changed to confusion. Was he trying to show he wasn't afraid of Dorian? Or no, was he…?

“Are you trying to wink at me?” Dorian blurted out. Of all the ridiculous things happening right now, that would be the one his brain focused on. 

For a few seconds The Iron Bull didn’t respond. Dorian was about to say his final prayers when Stitches suddenly let out an awkward chuckle, tension slowly draining from the room.

“You're awfully alert for a guy that was nearly dead a couple hours ago,” The Iron Bull complained. He was still carefully keeping his posture relaxed, even as his tone turned serious. “Got a few questions about that, actually, and I bet you’ve got a few of your own.” He didn’t break eye contact with Dorian as he gestured to the glyphs on the floor. “How about you get rid of those things you've got on the floor, before the whole tent goes up in flames? We can have Stitches take a look at your wounds while we have a friendly conversation about all of this.”

The Iron Bull said it like a request but Dorian knew he didn't have many other options but to cooperate. Logically, Dorian knew the friendly persona was an act but The Iron Bull played it so well it was hard to keep his guard up.

“Why did you help me?” It wasn't the question Dorian had been meaning to ask but it slipped out anyway, a habit from his life in Tevinter more than anything. You didn't offer favors to other people without expecting something in return. Dorian was alive in a medical tent, not dead out on the sands, so aid had already been given. He could only hope he would be able to afford the cost.

Things must not have been too different out in the wasteland, because The Iron Bull didn't look surprised by the question. “There's a little bit of confusion surrounding what happened to you today. Confusion gets people killed. Right now, you might be the only one who can help us get this cleared up. Bottom line is, you're no good to us dead so we’ve got an interest in keeping you alive. For now.” The last two words were said like an afterthought, and earned Chief a jab to the ribs and a dirty look from Stitches.

Dorian didn’t know what he had done to inspire such loyalty from a perfect stranger. Maybe that was a ruse too, intended to make him feel that his position was more secure than it actually was. The thought was sobering.

Dorian found it highly unlikely that he would know anything about the wasteland that these people didn't know already, but as far as payment went, talking was fairly painless. He certainly had no desire to give his life to protect Tevinter’s secrets. He let the fire glyph fizzle out and his barrier dissipate.

“Just a friendly chat, you say? Sounds delightful. Let's talk.”


End file.
